The Adventures of Danny and Lindsay
by muchmadness
Summary: A bunch of semi-connected vignettes. DL, dealing with the badness that occurred. It's very strange. Let me know if it works.
1. The Party

_This might work. I don't own the characters. Here it goes._

The Day Adam Became Lindsay's New Best Friend

"I'm a SOUL MAN!" Adam shouted to the apartment.

"Da-na-da-da … da-da-da!" Lindsay screamed, providing the instrumentals. She hopped around on the furniture, bouncing and jumping up and down.

"MAN, I love this song!" Adam screamed over the pounding base.

Lindsay nodded, taking another sip of her beer. It was her fourth. She plopped down onto the couch, completely spent. "Wow. That was awesome."

Adam turned down the music and sat next to her.

"Why don't you drink?" Lindsay asked, her words running into each other slightly.

He shrugged. "Alcoholism runs in my family. I guess I dunno how my body would take it."

"That's reasonable," Lindsay said, and took another sip. "At least you have your root beer."

He laughed and took another swig of the frosted liquid. He settled back into the couch, propping his feet up on the table. "Why are we doing this again?" he asked.

"Because I'm being cheated on. I'm the cheat-ee. Wait. If he's the cheater, that makes Rikki the assistant cheater … or would _she _be the cheat-ee? Who's what?"

Adam shrugged. "You could ask Da-"

"What's the rule, Adam?!"

Adam sighed. "We don't say his name."

"Good boy," Lindsay smirked, and took another gulp of her beer, pain flashing across her face for an instant. And then it was gone, dulled by the alcohol, vanished by the beer. She smiled. "How about a second dance session?"

"Sounds good to me…" Adam grinned, leaping up from the couch.


	2. The Remark

_Here's the second one. I still don't own anything._

The Day Lindsay Got New Underwear

Danny dropped his pen and then he never wanted to get up again. He'd been under his desk, searching for his pen, minding his own business, and then, all of a sudden, two perfectly toned legs had slid their way under his partner's desk. Holy shit.

He followed them up to the bend of her knees, to the shadowed region where he could just make out a lace-patterned glimpse of red.

He wanted to touch them. He even reached a hand out, but pulled it back when he remembered that they were not his legs to touch anymore. So he slithered out, backwards, until the air above him was free and clear, and stood.

She stood abruptly, her wheeled chair shooting backwards and spinning with the force of her actions.

"What were you doing down there?" she asked. Her voice was a squeak.

He held up the pen, openmouthed. He snapped his jaw back into place and busied himself with the work on his desk. Lindsay remained standing, staring at him. He shoved papers around, looking for the report he'd been in the process of writing before that beautiful denim skirt had arrived.

He looked up after a few minutes to find her still standing there staring.

"I dropped my pen," he said hoarsely. The image of her barely-visible underwear was still in his mind, replaying in a thousand different scenarios of the past, but he couldn't remember that particular style of lace.

She didn't move. Then she slammed into her seat, bringing it close to her desk and glaring at the test results Adam had just handed her.

"Adam get you some new underwear?" Danny asked quietly.

Lindsay threw the file folder onto her desk and stood, shoving the chair back into its tilted state, and stomped out the door, slamming it behind her.

Danny stood and raced after her. "Lindsay, I'm – Lindsay! Wait!" She was ahead of him, sprinting down the hall to the women's bathroom.

She went in and closed the door, leaned against it, and sobbed into her hands. _Stupid gorgeous man stupid stupid hateful mean jealous Danny_ – her head didn't make sense. She wanted to go to her perfect boyfriend and complain about the colleague who was mean to her. Her perfect boyfriend who hurt so badly that he had to share his hurt with someone who wasn't her.

Danny pounded his fist on the door. "Linds, come out! Lindsay I'm sorry. Lindsay, I didn't mean it!"

She felt the vibrations of his knocking on her back, and ran into the farthest stall, the largest one, and locked the flimsy door. She put down the toilet seat lid and sat on it, curling her knees into her chest.

"Montana, please! Talk to me!" He shouted. He tried to come up with an excuse, something to tell her to make everything perfect and shiny again, but he couldn't come up with the right one. True, it was three in the morning and he was on his second shift. True, he was jealous and he'd seen a too-close hug between her and Adam only four hours before. But nothing worked. He didn't care, though. He still had to see her.

He backed up and kicked the door handle, hearing it snap and crunch. The door banged open, and he stepped inside.

"Montana?" he asked gently, and headed to the last stall. Kneeling on the floor before the last stall, he knocked carefully.

"I'm comin' in there, Montana." He crawled under the stall, wiggling his way across the bathroom floor. Halfway through, he looked up at her. She was wiping mascara trails from her cheeks and sniffling.

"Go away," she said thickly, burying her face in her folded arms.

"Not yet. I'm sorry," he murmured, and wiggled all the way into the stall. He crawled over to her and sat before the toilet. "OK? I didn't mean it. I was jealous."

"You're mean."

"I know, and I won't do it again. I got no right to judge you. On anything. Especially whatever's between you and Adam."

He carefully lifted her head up with the touch of a finger on her cheek.

"You're right. You don't," she said shakily.

"I'm gonna go. I'm sorry. I really am. For everything. I'm just jealous, alright? But I won't do it again. Ever. Not to you."

She nodded, still motionless on the toilet seat."

He stood, and with a gentle caress of her hair, he unlocked the door and left, closing it behind him.


	3. The Yeller

The Day Lindsay Learned That New Yorkers Need to Get to Work

The man's face was purple-red. Disgustingly blobular flecks of spit flew from his lips. And the voice – high pitched, with phrases that ran together so quickly that the actual words were indecipherable. Lindsay had absolutely no idea what the man was saying.

She focused on the vein at the top of his forehead. She followed its bulging length down to the place where his eyebrows creased in anger.

She gave a half-hearted, "Sir, I need you to calm down," but didn't enforce it too much. She was too tired to argue. The guy just needed to blow off some steam. _Then again, it's not _my _fault some guy decides to drop dead right in the middle of the street. I don't see why I need to get sprayed with a poisonous dosage of spittle, _she thought angrily. But she kept her face calm and emotionless, strict and mechanical.

It was no surprise to her that she was able to keep calm in such an irritating situation. Lately, she'd felt nothing, no sorrow, no happiness, just blank, empty brain – like rice or mashed potatoes. She had no flavor, no spice.

"Igodda FUCKIN geddaWORK, BITCH –" the man shrieked.

Lindsay threw a glance over to Jessica Angell, who was going through a similar experience with a woman of about sixty five, jabbering about a doctor's appointment. Angell threw a 'what can you do?' look over Lindsay's way. Lindsay grinned sympathetically.

It was just the two of them, working a homicide on Fifth Avenue, right near Grand Central. Mac had promised to send more people over, but so far, no one had shown up.

Lindsay blinked as the man reached a particularly slobbery sentence ("pussy-ass police"). _I really hope he has no seriously contagious diseases, _Lindsay prayed.

"Sir," she said slowly, interrupting another snide remark about her inferiority and idiocy, "I need you to get back behind the tape, please."

"OH YEAH? MAKE ME!" he screamed, and planted his hands on his waist.

"Sir, please."

"Make me!" he thundered, shoving Lindsay's shoulder for emphasis.

"Sir, do not touch me."

"I CAN DO WHATEVER THET FUCK I WANT!" he screamed, and smacked her across the face. Lindsay stumbled backwards.

Before Chad Freely really knew what hit him, a fist caught him in the jaw. He was thrown backwards with a shove to the stomach, and flipped onto his chest as a heavy weight landed on his back, twisting his arm behind him forcefully.

"Y'alright, Montana?" Danny growled.

Lindsay nodded, her face flushed. "I was fine."

"I know." His eyes quizzed her nonetheless, his head running through the ways he could mortally wound the guy below him without a witness.

"Danny, you didn't have to-"

"Yeah, I know," he grunted, scrambling to his feet. He pulled the guy up with him, cuffing him roughly. He read Freely his Miranda rights and shoved him into the back of a patrol car, instructing the officer behind the wheel to book him for assault of an officer.

He then turned his attention to Lindsay completely. He cupped her face before she could stop him, cradling her cheek and scrutinizing the bright redness he found there.

"You wanna get somebody to look at that?" he asked gently.

"Danny, it was a slap. Not a gunshot. I'm fine."

He clearly disagreed with her, what with his lips pursing and his eyes narrowing to tunnel in on the irritated flesh of her face.

"At least take a break. Sit in the truck for a while. Five, ten minutes," he implored.

She hesitated. It was tempting, and her tired feet and sore ears told her it would be a welcome alternative to dealing with angry commuters. "I … I …"

"Please?"

"Fine. Five minutes. That's all," she commanded, shaking her finger at him to show how much she meant it. He grinned.

She allowed him to lead her to the car, open the door for her, but she drew the line at being helped in. She stepped up herself and settled into the passenger's seat. Danny leaned over her and pulled his water bottle from the driver's side. He handed it to her. She thanked him and looked at him pointedly.

"What?" he asked, smirking.

"Do you plan on working, or are you just going to sit here with me?"

He snorted, laughed, and closed the door.

She stared at him out the window. She frowned. Her face sprang into pain. "OW!" she shouted, and brought her hand up to hold her cheek.

The door swung open again, and Danny leaned in. "Lemme see," he murmured, and touched her face with two fingers, turning it to see her cheek. He grimaced as he saw the darkening flesh. He touched it tenderly with the tip of a finger. She almost leaned into him, begging him to kiss her, but instead, he patted her leg, and shut the door.


End file.
